A Dance Too Many
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Sherlock and Molly spend the evening dancing 'undercover' for a case but it all proves too much for Sherlock and his long buried feelings. Birthday gift for MizJoley.


_A Dance Too Many_

 _Happy Birthday MizJoely! I can't thank you enough for your friendship and your constant support.  
_

 _Big thanks to MrsMCrieff and allthebellsinvenice who both betaed this one. Bless those women! Though any mistakes are all me.  
_

 _I own nothing. ~Lil~_

* * *

He'd known it was a mistake. He'd known the danger going in. The temptation. But he'd seen no other way.

 _Well, perhaps that wasn't completely true._

He could have asked Mary Watson; she wasn't _that_ recognisable. He could have borrowed an agent from his brother. Though he was loath to be in Mycroft's debt, even for such a piratical purpose. So instead, he'd asked Molly Hooper to accompany him to the gala and then he proceeded to dance with her all evening. He'd held her close and played the part of doting lover, and she'd played right along... beautifully.

 _Too beautifully._

She'd laughed at all the right times; at all the right jokes. She'd blushed and curled into him when he'd pressed his lips to her cheek and stroked his hand down her spine. She drank her champagne and sat quietly while he gathered the intel that he was looking for. She nibbled her food and chatted with the obnoxiously boastful banker who sat next to her during dinner. And when Sherlock held her hand a bit too long, she'd barely fidgeted at all.

 _In short... She was perfect._

The first time he'd stood up and asked her to dance, he did wonder what kind of partner she'd make. Outside the lab and morgue - outside the element of her job - Molly could seem uneasy and awkward. However, as she had a tendency to do, Molly Hooper surprised Sherlock Holmes once again. All her clumsiness disappeared in a heartbeat as she allowed him to lead her in dance after dance. It was hypnotic. It was enchanting.

 _It was diabolical._

She was dressed in a simple, strapless, chiffon, floor-length number. It was pale pink and it fit her all too well. He'd known it would; he'd picked it out himself. _I'm an idiot,_ he thought as they made another pass around the dance floor.

 _He needed to stop thinking about her._

He tried _not_ to think about how her hair, swept up and elaborately pinned to the back of her head, accentuated her long, elegant neck. He tried _not_ to think about her subtle make-up or about the base notes of her perfume. He tried _not_ to compare her tiny hand to his.

 _He did try._

The case was long since solved. He'd sent a text to Lestrade over an hour before and had received confirmation that the suspect had been apprehended about a block from the hotel. He just didn't have the will to let Molly in on that bit of information. He was far too busy enjoying the feel of her soft skin underneath his callused fingertips when he put his hand on her shoulder and guided her back to the dance floor. He was too preoccupied with cataloging the smell of her hair as he held her. He was too distracted by her breathy sighs when he dared to move his right hand even lower on her back. His resolve was breaking down and he knew it.

 _He just didn't know how to stop it._

Molly sighed once again. This one was different though, and he suddenly realised that they'd been dancing for a _very_ long time. "Your feet?" he whispered into her ear.

She looked up and gave him an apologetic smile. "They're fine."

He panicked. The evening was nearly over; the case solved and once she realised that, he'd have to make up some excuse as to why he hadn't rushed her home already. But he didn't actually have an excuse ready, which was odd because he always...

"You've solved the case, Sherlock. Why are we still dancing?" she asked.

She was looking up at him as they moved slowly to the soft music. His mouth was suddenly parched. "Ah, well, I..."

Molly worried her bottom lip, which only caused Sherlock further _distress._ She looked thoughtful for a moment, then spoke again. "We could dance somewhere... else." She immediately looked away; clearly nervous. "I-I mean, I don't mean... Well, I don't actually know what I mean."

Without thinking, _at all_ , Sherlock replied, "I have a room. It came with the dinner... a package. I didn't intend to use it." He watched as her already blushing cheeks bloomed a brighter pink, then the flush spread down her neck and chest.

She made eye contact once again. "We could dance there. And I could take off my shoes."

"That would work," he said. Then he took her hand and led her out of the ballroom.

* * *

He didn't release her hand in the lift on the way to his suite, though they didn't make eye contact. His mind was racing. What on earth was he doing, taking Molly Hooper to a hotel room? It was utter madness.

 _This would end in_...

He looked down at her. She was obviously just as nervous as he was. He scoffed internally at the idea of _him_ being nervous. They'd only talked about more dancing, nothing wrong with dancing; they'd been doing it all evening. It was perfectly innocent.

What _wasn't_ innocent, however, were the images that kept flashing in Sherlock's mind.

He'd done a brilliant job of ignoring his baser instincts for years. Irene Adler may have held his attention for a moment, but that was over before it began. His pathologist, on the other hand, was a temptation he had to resist on a daily basis.

The lift dinged and he shook himself. He was reading far too much into the situation. This was Molly Hooper and they were simply going to... dance. "Shall we?" he asked and Molly nodded, then he led her out into the corridor.

His room was only three doors away. Once inside Molly pulled her hand from his as she made a beeline to the closest chair, obviously intent on removing her shoes. They were four-inch heels; completely impractical and... _incredibly sexy_. Standing five feet away, watching as she pushed the layers of chiffon out of the way to get to her feet, Sherlock's overloaded mind began to reel. Her sigh of contentment as she rubbed her toes didn't help one bit.

She looked up at him after setting the shoes to the side and said, "So, music?"

 _Music..?_ "Oh, yes. We need music for the dancing... that we'll be doing. Of course." He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and quickly found a recording of one of his own compositions. They were in the small sitting room; the bedroom and an en suite were to his left. He glanced through the doorway. There was more open space in the bedroom... "We'd have more room in there." He gestured to his left.

Molly stood up and glanced into the room. "Okay," she said, then turned back to Sherlock. "Listen, I have to ask you something."

Sherlock steadied himself for the worst. Did she think he was trying something? Was she questioning his motives? (Which were completely innocent... for the most part.)

"Could you take off your shoes? You dance beautifully, really, but if you happen to step on my toes in their current condition, it would end badly."

Though he thought he hid his relief, he couldn't help notice the small, knowing smile on Molly's lips just before she walked away. He removed his shoes and followed... quickly.

Once in the room he started up the song he'd selected and placed his phone on the bedside table. When he turned back to Molly he realised that she'd moved very close to him.

"Ready?" she asked.

He placed his right hand on the small of her back and pulled her close, but instead of taking her other hand in his he put it on the swell of her hip. "I believe so," he said, trying to keep his breathing steady. It was all so incredibly intimate, holding her – alone – in the bedroom of a hotel suite, without the distraction of other party-goers.

Molly, obviously feeling bold, put both of her hands on his chest and let them rest there for a moment while she looked up at him through her lashes. The height difference was much more noticeable now, without the aid of her heels. Finally she moved her hands to his shoulders and held on tightly. As they began to sway Molly lay her head on his chest, facing away. He rested his head on top of hers and closed his eyes as he breathed her in.

They moved slowly to the music for several minutes; long enough for the song to restart. Sherlock found it somehow easier to concentrate on the music and the motion of their bodies than before. Perhaps it was because he'd spent the better part of the evening storing every minute detail that he could about the woman in his arms, now he simply enjoyed her... every bit of her. The moment was broken by Molly, however.

"I d-don't want to do this dance anymore, Sherlock," Molly said as she turned her face into his chest. He tried to pull back, but she wouldn't let him, just held on tighter. "I-I don't mean the dancing. I mean... _this dance._ Us." She moved her left hand back to his chest and absently played with his lapel as she spoke. "I've seen the way you look at me. Friends don't look at each other like that. I..." She took a deep breath. "I know how you feel about s-sentiment, Sherlock, I do. But clearly something's changed. We... we need to make a decision, because I will _never_ be able to move on with you looking at me the way you have since you came back... again."

They weren't moving anymore. They were completely still except for their breathing. Sherlock gripped her hips a bit tighter as he thought about what she had said. _Move on._ Right, of course. Because she wasn't his. But she should be... someone's.

 _This evening had been such a mistake._

He should just let her go and walk out. Pick up his phone, put on his shoes and walk out the door. But he was frozen in place. She was so much braver than him. She'd said out loud what he'd been too much of a coward to admit, even to himself. He told himself to go, turn around and leave before he did something unbelievably stupid.

 _But it was no use._

She was holding him tightly with one arm around his shoulder. He kept trying to tell himself that the right thing to do would be to let her go, she deserved more- more than he could possibly give her. He told himself that there was no point to any of this. He told himself that it would end in pain and at least one broken heart, and he was fairly certain that one heart was his. But the tighter she held him, the tighter he held her. Hope was blossoming, and frankly... it terrified him.

 _Letting go would end him._

Sherlock finally managed to speak. "I know what I _should_ do, Molly. But, I simply can't."

He felt her stiffen up and try to pull away; he knew she'd mistaken his meaning. This time he wouldn't let her move. "No, I mean I should go and promise to never _look_ at you again. But I don't think that I can do that."

The hand that had been playing with his lapel snaked under his tux jacket, her nails digging into his side through his shirt. "What _can_ you do then?" she whispered.

That broke the last of his resolve. Then his famous courage finally showed back up.

 _Decision made._

He slipped both of his hands down to cup her bottom as he lowered his head until his lips came into contact with her shoulder. "A lot of things," he said in between kisses. "I'm quite clever, you know." He trailed kisses across her shoulder and up her neck, as she tilted her head, giving him more access. He found a spot just below her ear that caused Molly to whimper as he bit down harder than he intended, though she didn't seem to mind at all.

Molly managed to push his jacket off his shoulders during his oral assault, though he barely registered that it had happened since soon after he found the clasp and zipper on her dress. Once the clasp was undone, he dragged the zip down until he felt the top of her pants, then he slid his hands up her back. Her skin was unbelievably soft.

He pulled away enough to look into her eyes. She smiled and stepped back a little further, letting the strapless gown fall.

"Molly Hooper..." he said, with no real purpose except perhaps as an announcement at the reveal of her glorious body. She was stunning. No bra, as he'd already deduced, the only garment on her body was a pair of pink satin knickers. She wasn't even wearing stockings since it was a warm summer evening.

Her body was all soft peaks and delicious curves. He had the urge to put his mouth on every inch of her at once. He moved toward her but she held up a hand. She then stepped out of the dress, picked it up and draped it across a nearby chair. "It's lovely, Sherlock, and no doubt, expensive. I wasn't leaving it on the floor."

He rolled his eyes then raised an eyebrow. Molly nodded in response and Sherlock lunged. He picked her up in one swift motion, causing her to giggle as he placed her on top of the duvet.

 _Where to begin?_

He made quick work of his tie and cuff links, then he took off his shirt and dress trousers. Molly watched the whole process with rapt attention, repeatedly licking her lips and breathing heavily. He crawled onto the bed next to her, as he continued to take her in. He lay his hand on her hip and played with the top of her pants. "So, this is happening," he said as he lowered his head.

Molly reached up, lacing her fingers through his hair. "Finally," she breathed just before their lips met.

Her lips were like silk sliding against his; soft and yielding. He brushed his tongue across her lower lip and they opened to him as she pulled his body closer to hers. Sherlock shifted and fitted his leg between hers then started rhythmically moving, causing Molly to curse against his mouth. He moved his kisses down her neck. He followed the path that her blush had been painting for years, like some kind of map made only for him. He let it lead him to her perfect breasts. Taking one erect nipple into his mouth, he listened for her reaction to tell him what she wanted.

"Harder," she whispered as she dug her nails into his scalp.

He bit down and pinched the other at the same time eliciting another curse from Molly as her hips rose to meet his. He laved the taut bud with his tongue, then moved his mouth to the other one and repeated his actions.

 _He was nothing if not thorough._

He was still completely focused on Molly's breasts when he felt her hand palm him through his boxer briefs. The stimulation caused him to stop and drop his forehead to her sternum. Then before he knew it she was pushing them down and the flesh of her hand was on his shaft.

"I need you, Sherlock... no... more foreplay... please!" she begged.

He had so many plans- ways of taking Molly Hooper apart and making her come undone under his hands, his tongue, his lips.

 _She'd just ruined every one of them._

He kicked his pants off then reached for hers. He just had to have a little taste. He rubbed her through the fabric as he looked up at her face. Her eyes were shut tight and she was breathing through her mouth, panting, really. He pulled the pink things off of her then he returned to her side. He brushed his knuckles against her curls then slid a finger slowly past her folds.

"My God, Molly." He kissed her neck. "You're ready for me, aren't you?"

She nodded then turned her face to his. "I want to come Sherlock, I need to."

He curved two fingers deep into her center while circling her clit with his thumb. "Then come for me, Molly." He continued his ministrations as she keened up to meet his hand.

Then she turned her body towards his and pulled his face to hers for a blistering kiss. He changed the angle of his fingers and suddenly she was grinding herself on his hand, clenching around his fingers and growling into his mouth.

 _It was breathtaking._

He slowly pulled his hand away, causing a faint whimper to escape from Molly. Her eyes were still closed as she fell onto her back once again. Sherlock brought his fingers up to his mouth and she opened her eyes just in time to see him lick them clean. He smirked at her shocked expression, then sobered quickly when he realised that they needed to discuss something. "I didn't plan this."

She looked confused by his statement. "I-I know."

"No, my point is that I don't have any contraception. Is... that a problem?"

"Oh, of course. I, ah, have an implant and I'm clean..."

"Me too," Sherlock interrupted.

"Well, okay." She smiled and reached for him.

He paused. "You trust me. Just like that?"

"Yes, I do. I've always trusted you, Sherlock. I'm not going to stop now. Not when..."

He cut her off by taking her lips in his with an almost brutal force. As he broke the kiss he said, "Right, no more talking." He took himself in hand and positioned himself at her entrance.

She gave him an almost shy smile and he surged forward. Suddenly he was completely surrounded- engulfed by Molly's heat. Nothing in his life compared to this moment.

 _Perfect._

He paused to allow her to adjust. But Molly, it seemed, had other plans. She planted her heels into the bed and thrust up. "More," she grunted, and Sherlock gladly obliged.

They found their rhythm, just like on the dance floor, and soon they were making their own music; Molly's sighs, Sherlock's moans, skin moving against skin. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be long; the entire evening had been one long tease. He tried to think of

anything to hold off his end until Molly found hers once more. Then she dug her nails into his scalp and told him how amazing he felt.

 _Well, that didn't help._

Suddenly Molly bit down on Sherlock's shoulder and then she was coming apart around him, calling out his name over and over. He felt her tightening on him like a vice grip and three pumps later he followed, stars exploding behind his eyes as he experienced the most all-consuming orgasm of his life.

 _Bliss, nothing else described it._

He tried to hold himself up, to keep from crushing the petite woman beneath him, but his spent body had other ideas. He managed to roll to his right as he tried to regain normal breathing. His mind was completely blank- completely free of the constantly racing thoughts that usually plagued him. He couldn't remember feeling so blissfully peaceful without the use of narcotics since... since...

 _No, nothing compares._

He felt the bed move and vaguely registered that Molly must be making use of the loo, but it was a distant thought. It moved again, then she was curling up into his side, her hand lightly touching his chest.

"Can we cover up? I'm cold," she said.

He nodded and they made their way under the duvet. Sherlock pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Then his mind started returning. Doubts, fears, what ifs...

"Sherlock?" Molly's voice halted his inner turmoil.

"Yes."

"Was this a goodbye or a hello?" she asked.

She was just as worried. "What do you want it to be, Molly?"

She leant up on her elbow and traced his jawline with one finger. "Hello." She smiled.

"Hello," he replied.

"So, not a last dance, then?" she asked as she rested her head on his chest.

He thought a moment before speaking. "No, Molly. I'm afraid you're stuck with me." She giggled. "I'd be hard pressed to find a better dance partner than you, my love." A few seconds later he felt moisture on his chest, so he gathered her up in his arms. "What? What did I do? You have to tell me, Molly. I'm not..."

"Thank you, Sherlock," she interrupted. "For a perfect evening and for finally giving in." She kissed him, slowly and sweetly, then rested her head on his shoulder and held him tight.

 _Right, not a mistake, after all._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Reviews make me smile. ~Lil~_


End file.
